


your presence, irreplaceable

by hedonistic_opportunist



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Community: springkink, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-12
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-05 04:56:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedonistic_opportunist/pseuds/hedonistic_opportunist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because that's what he and Sherlock are - two people whose lives are deeply interlinked, their paths crossing even though they're as different as day and night. Written for springkink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your presence, irreplaceable

***

It's funny how Baker Street 221B hasn't changed: hissitting chair, Sherlock's skull, and even the holes from the gunshots in the wall still there in the apartment - as if they both had never left.

In the end, Mrs Hudson probably didn't have the heart to remove any of Sherlock's - their - items. Maybe, deep down, she had an inkling that Sherlock would come back - even if in the form of a ghost to make sure that nothing of his was moved from its usual spot. Sherlock has always been strangely picky like that (orderly where you usually weren't, and chaotic when decorum dictated that you should be -). And, possibly, she knew John, too, would come back, if Sherlock was there. As if he and John belonged together -

Because that's what he and Sherlock are - two people whose lives are deeply interlinked, their paths crossing even though they're as different as day and night.

He's ordinary, dull, while Sherlock is crazy, extraordinary -

Sometimes, John wonders why Sherlock chose him, what Sherlock sees in him that he decided to grace John with the brilliant workings of his brain...

John shakes his head. He's getting even more sentimental with old age, but - then again - it's not an everyday occurrence to move back into an apartment with a flatmate he believed dead.

"You're doing it again - musing over something," Sherlock says, interrupting his chain of thoughts with his low voice, nonchalant-sounding to most, but John can hear the slight disdain there, as if Sherlock didn't like it that John isn't paying any attention to him and him only ( childish ).

John just smiles, and holds out his hand. "Sherlock, come over here."

And it's a sign of Sherlock trusting him that he walks over to John, his bathrobe swishing as he leans forward, not afraid of being close. His eyes bore into John's directly. "Yes, John?"

"Your hand," John just says, and finds his breath quickening a bit: he's never really noticed it before, but Sherlock has beautiful eyes - expressive and clear. There are no secrets between them now, no lies.

Sherlock, John realises, has always been open, straightforward -

(Expect when he's not looking at John, but glancing down from above.)

And it's Sherlock's hand - warm, surprisingly warm - that tears John away from his thoughts, and he looks down at it, noticing those nimble fingers, pale and delicate (usually always working on something, either tugging at the strings of a violin bow, or doing experiments -). Before he knows what he's doing, he's touching that hand, inspecting it for wounds, calluses -

And, it's barely noticeable, but Sherlock's breath hitches, and then John feels a hand on his cheek, warm fingertips brushing against his skin there, and he looks up again, looking directly into Sherlock's sea-green eyes.

He could lean in now, and whisper sweet nothings into Sherlock's ear ('I missed you so much it hurt' and 'don't ever dare leave me again'), make his breath hitch even more, but John doesn't do that, just continues touching Sherlock, before running a hand up his arms, pushing it underneath the sleeves of his robe, marvelling at how soft Sherlock's skin is to the touch.

Sherlock just shifts closer, now so close their kneecaps are brushing while he touches John's face in silly places - the bridge of his nose, his lips, and - he's too close actually, but John doesn't mind because it seems like Sherlock needs this, wants it even, and John Watson has never been able to say no to Sherlock Holmes.

And - John should push him away because all of this closeness is making his throat feel dry, but he doesn't, not even when Sherlock is suddenly seated on his lap, just as light as one would expect him to be, and John finds himself running his fingers down Sherlock's back, idly exploring the curve of his vertebra - so noticeable under his fingertips because Sherlock is so thin, so thin -

(And John wonders if Sherlock's bones are as brittle as they seem, but he pushes that thought aside, not wanting to think of bones smashing, crashing as they plummet down, down -)

It's Sherlock again who brings him back to the present, by placing a hand on his shoulders, his other hand going up and down his arm left soothingly. "Don't think, John. Just don't think - "

And John doesn't because Sherlock's touches tell him Sherlock is here, and won't be leaving anytime soon.


End file.
